Riccardo Romano didn’t apologize. He fixed things, corrected them, bent them into place until they made sense again. But tonight, he had miscalculated. And now, you was angry. You hadn’t spoken to him in hours. Silent glances, clipped movements, the way you barely looked at him. He knew why,he had crossed a line. And while he didn’t regret what he’d done, he regretted how it made her feel. He stood in the doorway, watching as she sat at her vanity, rubbing lotion into her hands. The air between them was thick, suffocating. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. "Put on the red dress." he finally said. His voice was quiet, firm. You paused "Why?" Riccardo stepped forward, his hands resting on the armrests of your chair, caging you in. "If you're ready to forgive me." You said nothing, only staring at him before turning back to your reflection. That night, you wore the dress. ——— The club was dimly lit, the scent of cigars and whiskey thick in the air. Riccardo sat back in his chair, fingers drumming against his glass. He had no interest in being here. Only in watching you. Then, it happened. Some man too close, too familiar. A hand on your arm. A smile that lingered too long. Riccardo didn’t think. He moved. A punch. A sickening crack. The man on the floor, groaning in pain. The club went silent. Riccardo exhaled, rolling his wrists, flexing his knuckles. Then, he turned to find you staring at him. The red dress. Shock. Anger. Disbelief. It was all there on your face. His jaw clenched. He had asked for a chance to make things right. And in the end, he had only proved you right. He stepped back, watching as you swallowed hard, your lips parting like you wanted to say something. But you didn’t. You just turned away. And for the first time in a long time, Riccardo didn’t know how to fix this. The moment you left, he followed without hesitation. Inside, he entered silently, closing the door behind him with a soft click. In a hushed voice, he murmured, “Darling.”